


Repercussions

by Pixie (Ayiana)



Category: JAG
Genre: Angst, Gen, General, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-25
Updated: 2004-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayiana/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing Scene for the ninth season episode, <i>Persian Gulf</i>. What does Mac do after she leaves Sadik's hotel room?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repercussions

Knock Knock Knock

I don't know how I got here. I don't really even know why I'm here. Somehow I made it through all the questions that came after. Then I put on my scarf, pulled my coat around my shoulders, and left.

I drove. I don't remember how long or how far. But now, somehow, I'm here. It wasn't a conscious decision. It just happened - like my body went on auto pilot or something.

The door isn't opening. Maybe he's not here. Oh God. I can't. I can't be alone right now. Please, Harm. Please open the door.

Knock Knock

Louder this time. I won't - can't - ask for entry again. This is his - my - last chance.

It's opening. Thank God. I don't move. I'm not sure if I remember how. Harm stands there bathed in golden light like some kind of guardian angel. Silent, bitter humor twists in my mind. I've thought of Harm in many different ways over the years, but this is the first time the word angel has ever popped into my head. His face, surprised at first, begins to register concern, and I dab self-consciously at the cut beside my mouth.

"Mac?"

"Hi"

"Mac...what happened?" His voice - low, urgent, worried - is almost my undoing.

"Can I...come in?"

He steps back, pulling the door wide and gesturing me inside. The autopilot takes over again, and somehow I find myself sitting on his couch, staring into nothing as I relive the last two hours. It's what I've been doing. Replaying it. Scene by ugly scene. My brain programmed in an endlessly repeating loop.

I sense him taking my coat and scarf, hanging them on the hook by the door, and still the night replays itself. I can't seem to turn it off.

He's beside me again now. He stills my hand, stops it from picking at a loose thread in the couch cushion. My hand. The hand that killed a defenseless, though admittedly deserving, man, now rests passively in his. I stare at it. How did this happen? How did I become this monster who kills for revenge?

"Mac. Look at me."

I drag my gaze up, but I can't meet his eyes. I choose a point somewhere around his left ear and stare fixedly at it. It occurs to me, utterly irrelevantly, that he has adorable ears.

"Mac. Talk to me."

"It's over, Harm."

"What's over?"

"Sadik. I..." I stop, unable to say the words. "He's dead."

"What do you mean?" And then, more urgently. "Mac. Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

And so I do. I tell him all of it. I start at the beginning - the nightclub, Sadik's disguise, our bizarre casual walk to his hotel room. I tell about the body stiffening on the floor while we discussed Muslim tradition over hot tea in the kitchen. I tell about the insults, the digs at my femininity, the deadly game of cat and mouse. And finally ... finally, I tell about the fight - the life or death struggle that ended in a terrible split second decision that I can never take back.

"I shot him, Harm."

"You didn't have a choice."

"Maybe not the first time. I had to disarm him. But the second time. I had a choice, then."

"Mac...you did what had to be done. If you hadn't pulled the trigger, he would have killed you. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, but he would have come after you, Mac. You know it, and I know it."

I look at him then, and it dawns on me. He doesn't understand. This man who has been my best friend for eight years, the one person in my life who I thought understood me better than anyone, doesn't get it.

Exhaustion hits me then. Crushing. Smothering. Suddenly all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep. Somehow, he must have sensed it.

"Stay here tonight, Mac. You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. You shouldn't be alone."

I stifle a hysterical giggle. When have I ever not been alone? Why should this night be any different from any other? I've always handled my problems alone. Well... maybe not always. Once upon a time, there had been Uncle Matt, but now even he is out of my reach. Still, I am tired, and I know that driving would probably be a bad idea right now.

"I'll stay. But I get the couch. You're much too tall for it." I amaze myself that I can be this coherent.

Smart man that he can sometimes be, he doesn't argue with me. Instead, he gets me a pillow and blanket, then hovers over me while I take off my shoes and settle myself.

"I'm ok, Harm. You can go to sleep."

I'm not really. Right now, I doubt I ever will be. But I also know that there is absolutely nothing Harm can do. Webb might be able to understand, if he were here, but he's not. He almost never is. I'm beginning to wonder what it was that attracted me to him. Now is not the time to think about that though. Now, I just need to sleep. I close my eyes and let the darkness take me.

It's a mistake. I realize that when the dreams start. Sadik's there in all his incarnations ...white, Middle Eastern, Hispanic...He's all around me. Taunting me. Mocking me. Insulting me. I stand in the middle of a vicious circle, gun in hand, but for some reason, I can't shoot. I turn, aiming at first one Sadik, and then another, panic seizing me when I pull the trigger and nothing happens. One of the Sadiks, dark haired and olive skinned, laughs maniacally and reaches toward me, his large hand closing around my throat.

My eyes fly open and I sit up, breathing fast. I look around the quiet apartment. Luckily, Harm hasn't woken up. I know that I will not sleep again this night. Quietly, I gather my shoes and coat, not bothering to put them on. The click of heels on the wood floor would wake him for sure.

On bare feet, I pad across to his bedroom, and for a long time, I just stand there, watching him sleep, envying the peace that blankets his features. Somehow I know it'll be a long time before I rest that easily again.

Finally, I turn, walk to the door, and step silently into the hall. I close the door softly behind me and slip into my shoes and coat. Alone with my tortured thoughts, I head for home.


End file.
